


Strength of the Pack

by Soupernabturel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dinosaurs, Animal Castiel, Animal Dean, Bond Mates, Character Death, Crack, Creature Castiel, Creature Dean, Dean and Cas are Dinosaur's, Dinosaur AU, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Gore, Grooming, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Jurassic World universe, Little bit of angst, M/M, Murder, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Profound Bond, Raptors with feathers, Velociraptor Cas, Velociraptor Dean, Velociraptors, a/b/o dynamics, preening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4310928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soupernabturel/pseuds/Soupernabturel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel are Velociraptors at Jurassic World. Sam Winchester is their handler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strength of the Pack

**Author's Note:**

> What do we say to the God of fan fiction?
> 
> Fuck realism.

There is a new prey-scent scouting the boundary of the Raptor territory.

 Green-Stripe at the time is sunning himself, one eye open, he watches Blue-eyes across the enclosure, drinking heartily from the pool. Water in tear tracks, slide down the Blue eyed Raptors neck, spill over thin scaled lips. Green-Stripe watches his cage-mate drink water with an intensity that can be thought as unhealthy. Something hot within his chest churns. It's like a call that wants to be made, but Green-Stripe, even after all this time, after all these lights and darks, does not have the right notes to make it.

Green-Stripe scans every scale on his cage-mates body, admires his clear ocean eyes. 

 _Beautiful_. 

Blue-Eyes was the most beautiful creature in Green-Stripe’s life. No other could compare.

 As he is distracted by Blue-eyes, it takes Green-Stripe a moment to react to the new scent. Blue-Eyes rises up to his full height, silver-gray and blue feathers along his crest and spine fluff up in alert. He cocks his head toward the scent and chirps, following it up with an unhappy teapot whistle.

_Prey-near._

Green-Stripe rolls up onto his feet, echoing the click, a warning.

Following the prey-scent is a smell as familiar to Green-Stripe as Blue-Eyes’, and perhaps just as comforting. _Alpha_.

Alpha steps into view along the track above the Raptors territory, his long skull feathers tied up and away from his face in a tail-like hold. To his right stands new prey, shorter and stouter than Alpha, with dark feather fuzz covering his muzzle, his body feathers flat and dark to match. 

Green-Stripe hisses as the two come into view and slides to his place beside Blue-Eyes. The whole Pack is here and new Prey is here. The two Raptors expect a feeding.

When no food comes, and Short-prey is not cast into their territory to hunt, Green-Stripe pressed his fore claws into the earth, agitated, but greets his Alpha with a welcoming call all the same. 

After a nudge in the side, Blue-Eyes follows.

Alpha meets Green-Stripe’s eye, a silent acknowledgement, but when Short-Prey begins squawking his attention is pulled. 

“I don’t think you quite understand what a wasted opportunity this is.”

Alpha doesn't smell happy.

“You can’t program Raptors to act and obey, Crowley, they’re _animals,_ not weapons or monsters. It’s only through rearing, intense connection and learned behaviour that these two are as manageable as they are. And you want to breed what? Ten? A hundred of them to sell to the military?” Alpha lets out a snort of breath that makes Green-Stripe jump and makes Blue-Eyes’ growl. The two raptors pay close attention, watching their Alpha interact with Short-prey.

Of course they don't comprehend it, Green-Stripe even questions why their Alpha is not hunting the Short-prey to feed the pack. The concept of communication in such a way between Alpha and Prey is a foreign concept, too far beyond a Raptor’s scope. They have memory, and straining, formless intelligence, the thought required to learn behaviours, for sociability, connect new concepts and the innate understanding of Pack.

Pack is self. Pack is each other. Attack one of the pack you attack them all. And all will rally for defence.

“If you opened a door in front of these guys they’ll remember that door and how you opened it. Take them to another room, another door and they’d be able to figure out how to open that one too, because you would have taught them that doors can be opened.”

“But if you or anyone else is standing on that other side of the door,” Alpha continues. “Then they wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.”

“But that is the point,” Short-Prey speaks. Green-Stripe hears Blue-Eyes snarl beside him and offers his cell mate a soft snout nudge. “It’s that intelligence, isn’t that- in itself, a door one we can open with your help-" 

“They’re not for sale Crowley.” Alpha growls. “Dean and Cas, the boys-”

 “Dean and Cas? They’re both males?”

Green-Stripe shifts on his feet as the Short-Prey looks down on him. He has tried many times, to snap at the prey who cross the sky bridge above his territory, but never has the urge been stronger than now. It is clear Alpha does not like this prey. Green-Stripe wonders how long it will be before Alpha eats it.

The only thing that held Green-Stripe back from trying is his Alpha’s gaze upon him. 

“The females are more aggressive.” Alpha says.

Blue-Eyes whistles sharply again and bares his teeth when the prey look down.

Green-Stripe has never loved his nest-mate more than he does in this moment. He makes an amused sound to Blue-Eyes antics leans over and takes gently, the longest of Blue-Eye’s crest feathers into his mouth, nuzzling the soft downing feathers along the back of his s-shaped neck.

“I can see you’ve all learnt from the previous Jurassic Parks. You kept the feathers this time.” speaks Prey.

Green-Stripe ignores him and nibbles Blue-Eyes on the back of his neck, making the other Raptor croon, and paw the ground, but not take his eyes off from the creatures above them.

Blue-Eyes has always been more stressed by prey in their territory, even Alpha he treats with a healthy amount of scepticism. Green-Stripe trusts Alpha implicitly, often fights with Blue-Eyes about the matter. He considers the prey an annoyance at most and a teasing toward his appetite at least.

“Dean and Cas are a purer breed of Raptors.” Alpha sounds. Though Green-Stripe doesn't know what he is saying, the impression of pride comes across well. “They’re made to the closest and truest DNA that we could get.”

Blue-Eyes snaps at Green-Stripe, at the air around his neck. Green-Stripe rears back and let out a snarl, returning the gesture with a rumbling growl.

The two Raptors dart off, with no order from their Alpha to stay, and obviously no food to receive, they loose interest in them. Green-Stripe chases Blue-Eyes, ducking and weaving through the pen, both playing and asserting dominance in equal measure, though not for long if Blue-Eyes has anything to do about it.

 

From above the Raptor enclosure Sam Winchester smiles down as his Raptors chased each other, bright feathers, greys, blacks, some silver blue for Cas and some brilliant golden tan on Dean glittering in the afternoon sun.

Fergus Crowley, however, is less than impressed.

“Giant birds.” He says with a small amount of disdain. “When the park opens children may be disappointed. These aren't exactly the creatures envisioned up in their dreams and nightmares.”

Dean lets out a piercing, almost childlike screech, tackled to the ground by Cas who trumpets in victory. An unwitting smile kicks up Sam’s lips.

“My Raptors are not for sale Crowley.” He says directing the business man away, to leave his boys in peace. “I’m sorry but that’s all there is to it.”

 

oOo

 

Short-Prey with face feathers often comes to the enclosure after that.

 

Blue-Eyes does not like it. It is as though the prey are studying them, more often than not when Alpha can't be around. Watching them at every light, for lights and darks on end. Short-prey is not so prey-like with they way he watches the two of them.

Green-Stripe does not like it either but he finds his solace in Blue-Eyes' company.

With possessive affection Green-Stripe has curled himself around Blue-Eyes side. He hums and continues preening Blue-Eye’s beautiful feathers with sharp teeth and claws. He loves grooming.

Blue-Eyes leans in close and clicks. He tilts his head under Green-Stripe’s ministrations and purrs, a look of contentment over his face.

Grooming is ritual after feeding, Blue-Eyes and Green-Stripe taking turns to groom and nuzzle each other. As much a necessity as it is intimacy.

Though both find it immensely pleasurable.

In Green-Stripe’s hold, Blue-Eyes begins to preen his opposite side, twisting his neck around to drag sharp teeth through his feathers, fanning out his arm, almost wing feathers he pulls at them with his claws. 

He is beautiful. But moves too much.

Green-Stripe lets out a warning growl, as the other Raptor’s actions put space between them. He opens his jaw around Blue-Eye’s neck. A warning.

Blue-Eye’s snort stirs dust. He releases his own feathers and tucks his arm to his side. He blinks and cocks his head to the side then chirps. 

Green-Stripe accepts the move for what it is and presses his snout deeply into Blue-Eye’s feathers. He breathes.

“They seem a bit chummy, like over-fluffed chickens.” Short-Prey says from somewhere above. Green-Stripe is too busy to care.

“As I said the females generally are more aggressive. Raptor's are actually socially complicated creatures, like wolves. They have a pack mentality, close social bonds-”

“Yes- Yes it’s all very interesting.”

A pause.

“But I want to know if they can fight.”

“Crowley-”

“Calm yourself Moose I didn’t mean in that fashion. But what about with each other?”

“Of course. You can’t have two apex predators in the same enclosure and not expect them to fight, about dominance or hormones or anything really-”

“Who is stronger?” Short-Prey asks. “You said they were pack animals yes? Then who is Alpha?”

“I’m Alpha.”says Alpha. 

 _Alpha._ Green-Stripe purls in approval, lifting his head from his task.

At the loss of Green-Stripe’s touch Blue-Eyes rolls onto his side. Fluffing his feathers in the dirt and dust he chatters in displeasure.

 

oOo

 

Green-Stripe does not understand Blue-Eye’s reluctance to accept Alpha’s authority _._

“Alright stay Dean. Hold.” The thing in Alpha’s hand makes a clicking noise. Green-Stripe knows to listen to it.

“Cas-Cas, eyes on me!”

 Blue-Eye’s snarls, and turns his back, massive toe claws pawing the dirt.

“Hey, don’t give me that!” _Click. Click. Click. Click._ “Cas!”

Green-Stripe, gaze still on Alpha, _click click click_ , snaps at Blue-Eye’s to pay attention. 

Blue-Eye’s has a very bad temper.

Blue avian orbs locked onto Green-Stripe and with a snarl Blue-Eye’s lunges. Caught off guard Green-Stripe barks, but before he can look to Alpha (perhaps for interference), Blue-Eye’s has wrestled him to the ground.

Sharp claws, shredding teeth, the two Velociraptors wrestle in the dirt. After a minute of barking Alpha falls silent. Backs off. He knows as well as both Raptors that this is how it is done; two cage-mates vicious, animalistic, rolling in the dirt, both striving to win. It is a practise that even hatchlings know, an exercise to not only release frustration, but to teach, learn, to figure out which male is strongest.

Blue-Eye’s pins Green-Stripe to the ground with one long, scaled leg. He barks in victory.

Green-Stripe snarls, wriggles. Blue-Eyes bites at the air close to his throat, proving his point before relenting, lifting his foot so Green-Stripe can return to his own.

“You two are idiots.” Alpha call, leaning against the railing, outside of territory now.

Defeated. Green-Stripe is thankful to still hear affection in his Alpha’s tone.

Blue-Eye’s snorts, his next hiss is a spit before it falls into something lower, a long soft trill that fills Green-Stripe from the inside and makes him babble in return. It makes him think of eggs and nests, and stepping very carefully, being very gentle.

Blue-Eye’s leans his warm, restless head down against the side of Green-Stripe’s neck. He remains very patient. Very still.

After a moment Green-Stripe nudges him gently, rubbing his head against the curve of Blue-Eyes’ jaw. Apology accepted.

From behind a wall of glass Fergus Crowley watches.

 

oOo

 

Green-Stripe is roused from sleep by the sound of unnatural rumbling. It is the dead of dark time, Alpha never comes to them at dark time.

Blue-Eyes is the first to rise. He rises from where he had been resting beside Green-Stripe, unfolds himself from a crotched position, standing tall and ready to either run or defend. He is pack, Green-Stripe is pack. They are pack.

Green-Stripe rises beside him, lips curled back in a snarl.

When the door to their territory opens, Green-Stripe feels every muscles in his body tense. He can smell prey all over, and Black-prey somewhere outside the surrounding walls of their territory.

But no prey emerges from the opening.

Instead there is a pop and a hiss, and a smooth, metal stone rolls into sight.

Blue-Eyes breaks formation, stepping toward the smooth stone. Green-Stripe whines uneasily. 

And then the smooth stone begins to release smoke.

The enclosure floods quickly, despite open topped smoke obscuring Green-Stripe’s vision as smooth stone after smooth stone is thrown in.

Green-Stripe shrieks, back peddles, before realising too much distance is between him and Blue-Eye’s he lurches forward into the smog, and that is when the Prey attack-

Prey. Attacking. They are many. 

But Green-Stripe and Blue-Eyes are Pack. They are  _strong._

Somewhere Blue-Eyes trumpets a hunting cry. _Attack_. _Hunt_.

Prey are all around cloaked in the smoke, in colours that make it hard to see. Hard but not impossible.

Green-Stripe attacks with desperate claws, vicious teeth.

Stings, claws, pain. The Prey’s bites made from sticks that shot stones at blistering speeds break through the distance and try to pierce Green-Stripes sides. But he is fast, not always but enough.

Pain. Blue-eyes’ cry. Green-Stripe rips into the attacking prey, warm blood washes through his mouth, sinew and bone crunches between his strong draws. He draws back in a howl and calls out. _Pack. Blue-Eyes. Mate._

There is no answer.

The prey grow less in the power of Green-Stripes claws and feet. Determined, he rips and tears through one after the other after the other.

The smoke is lifting. 

A trail of blood. Both prey and Blue-Eyes. Screaming. Blue-Eyes in pain. Blue-Eyes calling for help.

Green-Stripe sprints from their territory, past the stone grey walls, where he has been raised his entire life, a place he and Blue-Eyes share.

The prey with their flying bites and too fast stones were trying to take that all away.

The place reeks of prey and strangeness, but Green-Stripe has a strong smell, good sight. Even in the darkness he can see his prey.

“Alive you bloody bastards! I want the damned thing _alive_!”

_Short-Prey._

Short-Prey stands to the side, watching screaming into a black box he holds to his muzzle. Green-Stripe snarls and screams towards him. Short-Prey is trying to hurt Blue-Eyes. 

He hears Blue-Eyes fangs snap over the prey screaming. He hears their roars _bang bang bang bang bang bang_. 

Green-Stripe trills and begins the hunt. He needs Blue-Eyes, but Short-Prey needs to be killed first.

Short-Prey at first tries to fight, but that is useless.

He then hides from Green-Stripe but Green-Stripe is a hunter. He hides from Green-Stripe but Green-Stripe finds him.

Short-Prey screams, like prey does, all in a flood of nonsense.

Show a Raptor a trick and they will learn it.

And so Green-Stripe learns to make his prey _beg._

With Short-Prey reduced to nothing more than a gooey pile of half eaten flesh, cloth and bone, and the rest of the prey dismembered and chewed, Green-Stripe licks his muzzle.

 _Pack?_ He calls as loud as he can. _Mate?_

 _Here_. The answer is weak. Struggling.

Green-Stripe tears through the underbrush. So many smells. So many sights, unfamiliar. He is torn; everything is so foreign, distracting and new.  A new, larger world. New smells. Exhilarated and scared, this new world tears at both sides of his mind. Instinct and learned. Behaviour and thought.

Blood covered Blue-Eyes’ scent. Green-Stripe trills a hesitant sound, unsure. Blue-Eyes calls pitifully back, until Green-Stripe finds him.

Something is wrong with the way Blue-Eyes lies. Firstly, because he is laying. Green-Stripe trumpets, calls for him to rise, to hunt. But Blue-Eyes does not.

Green-Stripe comes closer.

One of Blue-Eyes arms is completely limp, his dark feathers stained darker with blood. It looks horrifying, his once beautiful feathers, preened and groomed by Green-Stripe for hours with loving care, now are twisted, ugly, no longer aligned. Blue-Eyes twitches weakly as though attempting to rise, tries to reach Green-Stripe, demanding comfort.

He is leaking, red blood, lymph and liquid sluggishly. He has been forced open, slashed by the fired rocks, by prey's metal claws, which show the Raptors pink flesh beneath. He keeps his head tipped to the side, one eye on Green-Stripe drawing near. His pupil is blown wide in shock, the other side of his face so damaged it's unrecognisable, streaking liquid, stinging agony. Like a big chunk of flesh has been chewed out. His eye on that side can not be detected.

Green-Stripe draws back, panicked. This is brand new, this is beyond his understanding. 

Distressed he calls out for help on reflex, unable to contemplate of what to do himself.

Blue-Eyes cries in shrill pain, which turns into a whine then heavy breathing as more and more of his energy leaves him.

Green-Stripe clicks back, softening the sound he crumples beside his nest-mate and lies the side of his face on Blue-Eyes' unwounded stomach, rubbing blood stained and plucked feathers with his muzzle. He attempts to groom him, preen some of the feathers back into position. But they fall out in his teeth and Blue-Eyes cries, tries to shift away.

So Green-Stripe sits and remains by Blue-Eyes side. Death all around them. There is nothing else he can do. 

 

oOo

 

When Alpha comes Green-Stripe is lying by Blue-Eyes side, lost in a trance of hours and hours that feel like forever. Too scared to move.

Blue-Eyes smells of death.

Alpha does not come alone, other prey are with him.

Green-Stripe shields Blue-Eyes body with a dangerous ferocity. He will attack if they approach.

Alpha emerges, smelling like them- _prey-_ more than he ever has before.

 Prey, like the ones from the dark, circle him, they have the stinging stick that shoot rocks like fire, rocks that are embedded into Blue-Eyes body now.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Garth put the gun down.”

Alpha’s voice is commanding. The prey listen with hesitation.

“Holy shit.” Alpha gives a quick indrawn breath. “Oh god, _Cas_.”

Green-Stripe snarls and tucks in closer to Blue-Eyes side. He barks and hisses as Alpha comes forward, fore claws extended, his steps slow.

“Dean, no it’s me. I’m here. You’re okay.”

Learned behaviour and Instinct are at war in Green-Stripes mind. Their walls overlapping. He remembers being held in warm Alpha fore claws and being fed. Alpha, always feeding the pack until they are not hungry. Rewards of tasty extras. Soft affection and training days, playing and being sprayed with water in the hot season. With his head held motionless in the ready-cage he remembers Alpha’s touches both soft and respectful, kind and strong.

He is prey. He is also Alpha. _Pack_.

Raptors are all loyal to the pack because they _are_ the pack.

Green-Stripe gives a distressed sharp cry and stumbles forward. Exhausted, anxious he's known Alpha’s voice from the egg.

For the first time in hours he leaves his cage-mates side. He snaps his jaw uneasily, but Alpha extends a fore claw. Patient.

Green-Stripe glances at the surrounding prey. They stay where they were- at a distance. He steps forward.

Finally, brokenly, he whistles.

“It’s okay shh shh shh. It’s okay. You’re gonna be just fine Dean.” Alpha's tone is soft and reassuring. His hand on Green-Stripes jaw is pleasant. Shaking, Green-Stripe falls into the touch like a hatchling.

Alpha tenses, but doesn't back down or away. His eyes never leave Green-Stripe. There is a moment of tension, of touch unsure, clearly he is wondering if Green-Stripe is to attack him or not.

“Easy Dean, easy.” Alpha intones. Green-Stripe takes one step forward and buts Alpha's fore claw with his snout. They slide slowly up the side of his face, and Green-Stripe lets them.

Familiar. Safe. Pack.

Green-Stripe lets out a painful whine.

“Easy,” says Alpha, scratching under his jaw. He speaks to the prey. “I need a control team, no active firearms, just tranqs and someone call Jody; Cas is…is badly hurt. Crowley-” he swallows. “Crowley and his men didn’t make it.”

He pulls away from touching Green-Stripe who chirps mournfully.

The surrounding prey obey his Alpha. Which is confusing and distressing in and of itself.

Green-Stripe's eyes shoot to the circling prey as one of them moves. Eyes sharp and feral, Green-Stripe growls, every muscle in him tensing in preparation to pounce. 

“ _Dean-_  No!”

Alpha commands him to stop. And Green-Stripe does. For a second.

He is so _hungry_ and prey is  _right there_. His stomach gnaws at him. Blue-Eyes body lies behind him, hurt, injured (killed?), by creatures like _them_.

Raptors have memory, they remember. They can feel societal bonds, they can _feel-_

Short-Prey has taught Green-Stripe that prey is not always prey when it is prey that does the hunting. 

Short-Prey taught Green-Stripe an important lesson. To attack first.

Some of them edge toward Blue-Eyes. Green-Stripe lowers into attack.

“You need to let them help Cas, Dean.” Alpha is saying. “Trust me. Everything’s going to be okay. They won’t hurt him.”

But Green-Stripe doesn't trust them. Blue-Eyes is too important. So he does what Raptors do.

A sting in his side. Wooziness. Before he can attack and protect, sleep has already taken him.

 

oOo

 

Green-Stripe’s world is always changing.

In the beginning when he was small, he broke through his egg, his first territory.

He grew bigger in the world, in Alpha’s hands, until he could no longer fit inside them. There was dark and light and light and dark and Blue-Eyes by his side all the way. Air, ground, trees, earth, smell, rain, mud, Alpha. They discovered and learnt together. It was a world of more but it was okay, because Green-Stripe was never alone.

He remembers the prey’s stinging rocks. Prey already dead, no running. A strong shot out and hit his shoulder. He was stung and falling, and there was dark.

And now, he wakes to light, in territory, alone.

The walls to territory press down on him and in.

Green-Stripe on realising his own loneliness, tries and tries to break the walls, to get to where Blue-Eyes has to be. He is not in territory so he has to be _outside_. He tries until it hurts as much as the ache inside, of where Blue-Eyes is missing, that threatens to make him dead.

Why not be dead?

Anything is better than being alone.  

Lights and darks pass. He does not eat. Barely rests.

Blue-Eyes is gone.

Green-Stripe feels the loss, as acutely as any sentient creature can. 

After a long time, too long, Alpha comes.

Green-Stripe immediately barks at him. _Pack! Pack?_

Alpha answers with soft calls. “Dean. It’s okay.”

Green-Stripe steps forward. Alpha when he touches him is soft, gentle. Green-Stripe is lonely, incredibly so, he gently head-buts his Alpha’s shoulder.

Watching, the prey tense, fire-stone sticks at the ready. They make Green-Stripe afraid, they make him angry.

Raptors remember.

Green-Stripe scents the air, a growl curls in his gut.

But...beneath the pervading smell of prey, there is a smell innately familiar.

Loved. 

“It’s alright Dean it’s alright.” Alpha croons to deaf ears.

Green-Stripe chirps, and steps around him. His Alpha is blocking the view-

Of several prey wheeling in a strapped down Blue-Eyes.

Blue-Eyes!

_Blue-Eyes!_

Green-Stripe squawks and races forward, talons and teeth bared.

 Prey scampered in fright, slipping behind the walls, Green-Stripe makes to chase them, hunt, kill for touching Blue-Eyes. But Blue-Eyes makes a sound, quiet and soft.

Green-Stripe runs to his side, purrs low in his throat.

“Alright Dean, steady, steady.” Alpha says approaching. He kneels down where Blue-Eyes lies, and put his hands upon him. Green-Stripe has to repress a growl at such a determined touch to his returned cage-mate.

Surprisingly, Blue-Eyes makes no attempt of attack. Shows no sign of discomfort.  He lays his face down on the platform beneath him, patient, as he is slowly unbound.

Green-Stripe snaps at the air around Alpha’s shoulders as he works. _Hurry. Hurry._

The Prey watching grow tense. Holding their breath.

“Back off, Dean.” Alpha warns and bite back at Green-Stripe with his fore claws, swiping the air as he works. His fore claws are far more nimble and dexterous than Green-Stripe's own, more joints, no talons. They look pitiful but seem to perform a kind of magic.

Green-Stripe whistles and hisses, but takes two steps back.

When Blue-Eyes is unstrapped, Alpha backs off, fore claws held out, muttering soft assurances.

Blue-Eyes tentatively rises, stands on his own two legs. Green-Stripe orbits him, ecstatic, he clucks and purls and noses at his cage-mate. Examining him over, the new smells, balding spots of missing feathers. Where he was torn open is closed, now, puckering sore but clean marks litter his body, his arm holds loosely by his side, completely stripped of all feathers, only gray scales remain.

Gathering his bearings Blue-Eyes turned to Green-Stripe. Where once two perfect blue eyes were, now only one remains. A pink still raw scar runs the length of one side of his face. The eye on that side permanently closed shut.

Green-Stripe purls, slow and careful as he approaches Blue-Eyes' blind side. Blue-Eyes gave a frustrated snort then buts Green-Stripe's side, leaning against him tiredly.

Green-Stripe trumpets, ruffing up against Blue-Eyes side. He nuzzles carefully the side of his face, his neck. More glad than ever before to have his Blue-Eyes by his side. A sentiment dearly shared by Blue-Eyes who murmurs to him in gentle warbles.

Alpha watches the two of them, his body less tense. Green-Stripe looks over at him, trills then pays all his attention Blue-Stripe who is whistling, quiet and consistent, a rumble deep in his healing throat.

 

oOo

 

The small prey enjoy it when Green-Stripe runs along the water solid wall. He often does it happily, the small prey looking delicious, good enough to eat, but nothing can convince Green-Stripe to leave the safety of his territory.

He has learnt his lesson, knows of the dangers of the outside what can happen there, a place where Prey and Hunter are not quite so clear cut.

It has  been many lights and darks since then.

Backing away from the clear wall, Green-Stripe chirps happily and looks around.

Across the paddock he catches sight of Blue-Eyes, grooming next to the pond. He has his good eye, a clear blue on his own reflection in the small pond. He tilts his head from side to side, admiring his own reflection.

He has more scars, now. Beautiful lightning strike scars, where feathers no longer grow.

Green-Stripe trills, grabbing the other Raptor's attention. He runs over, skids to a stop and playfully leans over to butt his nose against Blue-Eyes muzzle, enough to press their mouths together. Their eyes meet and rather softly, Green-Stripe gives Blue-Eyes a loving nip, drags his open mouth over Blue-Eyes’ throat, past his jaw.

Blue-Eyes purrs, with lidded eyes. A high pitched whistle escapes him, making Green-Stripe trumpet proudly, feathers puffed and ruffled. 

He lets out a sound of contentment. One Blue-Eyes returns and more.

Above, Alpha watches over them, smiling to himself in the midday sun.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So for this fic I watched documentaries about Velociraptors. Turns out; Raptors are just big fucking birds, with big fucking bird problems and big fucking bird bodies.
> 
> As always, comments and Kudos are deeply appreciated.
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](soupernabturel.tumblr.com)


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